


Luck o' the Irish

by Jackjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackjunkie/pseuds/Jackjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and the team receive a warm Irish welcome to New Erin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck o' the Irish

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine No One Gets Left Behind

Jack took careful note of the fast gathering crowd as Daniel did his meet-and-greet thing with the natives. They looked friendly and prosperous. The land on the way from the Stargate to this small town was green and fertile, and the buildings here looked neat and well-cared-for. The UAV hadn't picked up any sign of technology, the terrain appeared more suited to agriculture than mining, and there weren't even any ruins for Daniel to play with. Jack pegged this for his lucky day—a quick in and out, pass it on to SG-9 to work out diplomatic relations and trade agreements, then home in time to get in some fishing before their next mission.

He watched one man step forward to shake hands with Daniel.

"Donovan's my name, lad, and I bid you welcome to New Erin." The presumable leader was a tall, muscular man with an easy manner. His weathered face was beginning to show lines of age, but his sandy hair was as yet untouched by gray.

"Hi, I'm Daniel Jackson. This is Colonel O'Neill, Captain Carter, and Teal'c." Daniel barely had time to finish his standard introductions before an exclamation echoed through the group.

Donovan turned his full attention on Jack. "Did I hear the lad right? Are you truly called O'Neill?"

"Jack O'Neill. Pleased to meetcha." Jack extended his hand, and Donovan shook it heartily.

"We've not had an O'Neill in these parts in a bard's age. Did ye know some of the high kings came from O'Neill stock?"

"Huh." Jack pensively scratched his jaw. "No, the closest we ever came to royalty was my Uncle Mike who was known as the Used Car King of Blackduck, Minnesota."

Donovan gestured expansively to the excited crowd. "This is cause for a town celebration. A feast to hail the O'Neill's return!"

The O'Neill nudged Daniel's arm. "A feast. Cool."

* * * * *

Jack nodded his thanks to the boy who refilled his mug and accepted another roll from the girl passing by with a tray. They'd put together a darn good feast on short notice, setting up tables in the town square. Musicians played lively tunes while a few folks worked off the ample lunch with dancing. They even persuaded Carter to try a jig. Daniel made the rounds, trying to talk with every single person there, while a six-foot-three, two-hundred-pound hulking Jaffa somehow managed to recede into the background as Teal'c quietly trained his keen observational skills on the festive proceedings. Jack reflected that wasn't as hard as it sounded considering they sure grew them big in these parts. All the members of SG-1 were fairly tall, but tall seemed to be the norm here, the locals easily matching them for height and quite a few even a bit taller. Yep, a big and tall store would do a booming business in this town.

Jack's thoughts on high finance were interrupted as Daniel rejoined the rest of his team at the table. "I think it's safe to say our initial guess was correct, and their ancestors originally came here from Ireland on Earth. The elders have been telling me fascinating stories that have been passed down about the 'green isle' as they call it and the fairy folk there. Celtic mythology isn't really my field, but I believe they were brought through the Stargate with the Tuatha de Danann."

"Daniel, do not tell me we're going to meet leprechaun Goa'ulds." Jack looked around and then glanced under the table as if to make sure no miniature Goa'ulds were lurking there. "Or that they've got a pot of naquadah at the end of the rainbow." He scanned the cloudless midday sky. "Not that there's any sign of rain."

"Sir, the state of the vegetation indicates frequent rainfall in the area." Carter crunched into a raw veggie resembling celery. "We don't have enough data on the climate yet to know how quickly the weather can change." 

"Actually, Jack, leprechauns were generally portrayed in the legends as helping humans, which doesn't sound very Goa'uldlike." Daniel selected a vegetable from the platter before them and jabbed it in the air. "The Goa'uld was more likely a warrior fairy queen named Dana. One of her honorifics was 'Mother of the Gods.'"

Jack was skeptical. "How warlike could a tooth fairy be?"

"Not tooth. Tuatha de Danann." Daniel blinked at the veggie he was waving and put it down on his plate. "Translation: the people of Dana. They're fairies more in the sense of magical beings or gods—"

"False gods," Teal'c interjected almost automatically.

"False gods," Daniel amended agreeably. "They were warlike enough to defeat the Firbolgs—"

"Furlings?" Jack interrupted.

"No, Firbolgs—the original inhabitants of Ireland, conquered by the Tuatha de Danann, who ruled until they were in turn defeated and driven out, which sounds pretty much like the Goa'ulds we know. Dana probably brought her people to this world, and then at some point appears to have left, whether to raise more troops or fight or whatever reason. In any case, she hasn't been seen here for generations."

Jack thought it over. "Ever heard of this Dana, Teal'c?"

"I have no firsthand knowledge of her, but I believe she was a minor queen. She may indeed be dead as she has no rank among the system lords at present."

"Okay, she's probably been gone for years, and no one here seems worried about her, but let's keep alert for any signs of a wicked witch in this emerald city. Remember, a snake is still a snake, even though Saint Patrick drove them out of Ireland."

* * * * *

Jack awoke with a raging headache and the sense he was bound hand and foot. Damn. No point kicking himself now over the fact he'd obviously been drugged. Assess the situation and get himself and his team out of it first. There'd be plenty of time later to beat himself up over falling for such a rookie trap.

Cracking an eyelid he saw he was lying on the ground before a pool of water. The sulphurous odor, white smoke-like tendrils, and occasional bubbles bursting on the pond conveyed it was some kind of hot mineral spring. A ring of trees marked the edge of a wood. So, no longer in the town then. From the position of the sun it was mid-afternoon, so he'd likely been out for an hour or two. There was no sign of the rest of SG-1.

Donovan stood at the edge of the water, his hands outspread while he recited some sort of incantation. More men stood strung out along the side of the pond. Jack lay still, considering and rejecting options. He hadn't reached a solution when Donovan finished speaking and turned toward him.

As two men reached down and grasped his feet and shoulders, Jack erupted into frantic struggles, twisting and writhing, kicking with all his strength. The large men maintained their hold as they carried him the few steps to the verge of the spring.

Donovan looked down on him and sadly shook his head. "Nay, O'Neill, 'tis no use to fight against your fate. We have been too long without a proper sacrifice, but your coming is a sign we can renew our favor with the gods."

"They're not gods! We can help you. Don't do this!" Jack's cries had no effect.

"Your family name destines you to be sacrificed to the Lady Dana. She will enfold you in her sacred pool. So it has always been, and so mote it be." Donovan placed his fist over his heart, and at the signal his men flung O'Neill into the pool of bubbling water.

Jack gasped in a lungful of air before he smacked the surface and sank into the warm depths. He continued to strain at his bonds, but they remained tightly fastened. Without the use of his arms and legs, there was no way he could swim. He forced himself to still in an attempt to float, but his heavy boots dragged him down. Heat blanketed him, draining his energy. Blinking at the stinging mineral water, he let out a little of the breath he was holding. This was it. He knew he couldn't hang on for long.

Suddenly he felt more than saw a splash, a surge in the water around him. Something engulfed him, ropy and heavy. He battled the urge to fight it off, instinctively trusting it meant salvation and not an alien underwater creature hunting dinner. He'd lost all sense of direction and only hoped the pull he felt was upward.

Bursting through the liquid barrier into the light and air, he heaved in a great breath, gasping in and out as he was dragged onto dry ground. He lay recovering his breath as the net was disentangled from around him, and he felt a knife saw through the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Finally free, he rolled over and sat up to see his rescuers.

"Jack, thank God!" Daniel knelt at his side, patting his back and arm as if making sure he was solid. Next to his friend stood a stranger slipping a knife into his belt sheath.

Not overly short except when compared with the tall townsfolk, he was perhaps 5'6" or 5'7", with brawny muscles attesting to his strength. Dressed in the green and brown of the surrounding woods, the man looked curiously at Jack. "I was that startled to run across Daniel here we almost didn't snag you in time. That lot hasn't been up to this trick since they sacrificed their last O'Neill an age since."

Daniel helped Jack to his feet. "Sam, Teal'c, and I split up to search for you, and I surprised Duffy fishing a stream that runs through these woods. He knew just where to look."

"Lucky for me Donovan's bunch didn't stick around to stop you. Thanks."

Duffy shook Jack's hand. "That's always the way of it. Cut and run. I don't think the hooligans have the stomachs to see it through."

Daniel keyed his radio. "I'll tell Sam and Teal'c to meet us at the Gate."

"Come, I'll show you the way." Duffy led them into the woods.

"So, Duffy, catch much with this net? I favor a fishing pole myself."

"Ah, fishing with a pole is an art; the net is for harvesting food."

"Hear that, Daniel? Fishing's an art." Jack nodded in satisfaction.

Daniel laughed. "Face it. You never caught anything half as big as what we just fished out of that pond."

Jack lightly punched Daniel's shoulder. "Watch it, I'm the son of kings, remember." He slowed his pace to let Duffy draw ahead a little. "So what's the story with our lucky friend there? He's shorter than the townspeople, lives off the land, and helps humans."

Daniel shot him a considering look. "Are you asking me if he's a leprechaun?"

"Okay, so he's not exactly a munchkin, but it fits."

"It's possible his people could be descended from the source of that legend."

Jack grinned. "This is going to be one fun debriefing. I can't wait to see Hammond's face when I tell him how a leprechaun saved me from being sacrificed to the tooth fairy Goa'uld."

* * * * *

"Quit fussing, Daniel. Doc sent me home. I'm fine."

"Janet sent you home because you had no apparent injury, but you came close to drowning. You need rest and warmth."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud. That hot spring almost cooked me into an Irish stew! How could I catch a chill?"

"You got soaking wet and then hiked through the woods before gating through a freezing wormhole. Look, I know just the thing. If you don't feel like tea or soup, how about some Irish coffee?"

Jack glowered briefly, then capitulated. "I wouldn't say no to that."

"No surprise there." Daniel poured coffee into two mugs, and pulled a bottle of Irish whiskey from Jack's cupboard. He splashed a bit in one mug, then laced a generous amount into the other, which he handed to Jack.

Jack sniffed the aroma appreciatively and held up his cup in a toast.

"Long live the O'Neill." Daniel clinked his mug with Jack's.

"Piece of cake, with help from all the little people." Eyes widened, projecting bland innocence.

"Don't let that king business go to your head. I object to being called…or…you don't mean…" Blue eyes rolled in exasperation. "Jack, don't count on finding a leprechaun on every mission."

"Oh, I don't know." Jack took a satisfying swallow of his drink and raised his mug in salute, crinkling his eyes in a mischievous smile. "Luck o' the Irish, Dannyboy."

 

THE END


End file.
